In Pursuit of
Dancefloor
Justice:
A Bostonian Testimony of a city desperate to let the kids dance and just be free
By Shardae Jobson
If you once observed the evolving underbelly of Boston’s aggressive attempt at a constant appearance of an electro/dance party scene, you probably presumably acted as a slightly inebriated paper doll on a club wall: you mingled now and again with those friendly enough, but you made sure to sometimes to just glance and waver like all the rest against the redundant, clashing beats of the electronic music all up in the club turned watering hole in a city more known for its scholarly, somewhat stoic and classic northeastern ways, than one of fabulously rambunctious young people.
For the last three to four years, Boston has been trying to stay relevant in the dance party circuit. Beantown no longer wants to be the kid sibling tagging along after L.A.; New York City; or even Chicago, where some of the greatest zeitgeist movements in youth culture have already been established as a part of everyday life. Boston wants to be viewed as another prime arena for craziness and style, electro music as the main soundtrack. Though what has yet to be discovered is that such a “come one, come all” free spirit nature is a bit harder to maneuver in a city that is desperate to let go, but can never seem to fully shed its image of well-deserved and reserved confidence. After all, this is also a city that actually operates “underground dinner parties” as discovered by The Boston Globe (geez. Please don’t kill us with a good time! Oh, Boston…)
To the Armani Exchange wearing people who come to Boston’s mainstream clubs, as well as the kids who support the underground house parties, to think that such debauchery would be better equipped in say New York City is a natural thought—but most of us can’t bum-rush to the Big Apple whenever we want; so Beantown party promoters do what they can to ensure happy endings and encouragement towards the party people to be as wild as they want to be. What was cool about this aspect Boston coming from the bottom up is that the progress was well documented for not just those from the beginning, but for others who caught on to doing something different on a sometimes mundane Friday or Saturday night.
Even New York City has had to continue looking for new eccentric characters and other nightlife show-stoppers, as the days of the original club kids are long gone. The monochromatic Misshapes are now regulated for the fashion show after-party crowd, shindigs like Motherfucker abruptly ended a few years ago, and Ruff Club at The Annex ended in September of 2009 (word is, the party apparently did not end until 7AM). Webster Hall has now become the most advertised hotspot for weekend throwdowns in NYC, and the Beatrice Inn was once the pinnacle for watching Gossip Girl wannabes dancing badly and throwing up later. New York City has had to regroup and think again about what it is that brings the people together, and Boston’s been right up there brainstorming, refusing to be ignored and demanding some of the limelight.
If you don’t live in the aforementioned hedonistic cities and love to get it popping, it is almost inevitable to feel at times like you’re missing out on all the fun. You’re left to visit the websites of party photographers (who’ve become local celebrities in their own right) and their massive photo albums of the reckless and almost famous having a good time. You see pictures of them rubbing elbows with the boys and girls, as they collectively believe they are invincibly greater than until the real world pulls them back in the opposite direction come sunrise. Boston’s self-invited inclusion, and re-introduction, as a city of nocturnal amusement in recent years was only a matter of time. The notion was not necessarily a new one and the current generation of party-goers are following the precedent of devil may care behavior of the past that even Boston once exuded (hands in the air if you still long for the days of those old school jams and La Bouche dance hits).
It all began when a group of former unknowns in the club circles of Boston began dance nights on their accord, and they have otherwise accomplisheed more than given credit for.
While the titles of some of these nights have ended or all together never gained much momentum (Circus at Privus, Robot Revolution), others have come in their place to continue a kind of counterculture revival that shimmers of an eat, drink, sleep and party lifestyle. Some of this hootenanny in town are known as Throwed, Hearthrob, Paper, Thunderdome, Campus, hip-hop infused nights by Future Classic, Fashionably Late (the swankest of them all) and other intended, stylish nonsense. The captured complacent shots of the young’uns, from the photographer’s professional camera, behind the rainbow slashes of camera’s flash, we see an imprint of an expression that is traditional to what all dance parties of the world seem to share: a feeling of wanting to be alive.
Once the dance party scene began to really heat up in the mid-2000s in NYC and L.A., and even Philadelphia where Diplo and Switch started the near legendary Hollertronix parties, Boston also took charge in their respective neigborhoods and the party people came in droves. For a moment, it was all about Circus (at Privus, which of all places, was held at a sushi joint), earning a very successful run and was nominated for Best Saturday Night but won Best Dinner & Dancing, both by The Weekly Dig. Hearthrob at Central Square’s Middlesex Lounge has had steady loyalty for its biweekly nights and is truest to the roots of punk and dance, while Throwed and Paper are favorites for those who drink underage and have a new place to make this fact more public. The unofficial public headquarters for Boston’s renewed image of fun and loud music once again belonged to Allston, sandwiched between Brookline’s Coolidge Corner and Brighton, and is one of few havens for Boston’s subculture of new millennium beatniks, and college brats and bums (with Harvard Square, Central Square, and Davis Square as, second, third and fourth). It is the neighborhood where some of Boston’s most erratic nights have taken place in regards to these thriving gatherings.
Whatever the party’s name was, wherever it was held, there was a feeling that once you’ve stepped inside the small club (sometimes basement) of these dance parties, you wanted to be seen through the lens of the people who were running the joint (in simple terms) as a cool kid of sorts. While you pretended to care less for their reverence, you too were suddenly in the know of what was bubbling in Boston nightlife and hoped they wouldn’t hate that you were one step closer to achieving true party kid status. As with many dance party scenes, the crowd is eventually the same, so people get to know each other—that is, if they want to get to know you. You find out real fast some people aren’t as quick to welcome you into their enclave. Promoters want people to show up to boost their popularity, and some party people are elated on meeting new ones (even complimenting your shoes or outfit), but the junior high school clique feeling that these parties sometimes bring can be incredibly nauseating. Yet, for every face too conjured in bitchiness to say hello, nice people are met and after seeing your face every damn Saturday night, they may even feel bound to say hi and give you a quick but amiable hug—their way of saying, “You made the right choice tonight”.
By mid-2008, the parties became super popular, and a staple of Boston nightlife, rivaling the likes of clubs next door and around the corner that played Top 40 mash-ups. For those who regularly came, they likely became a bit submerge, and soon notable names from those influential cities made their stops such as Pase Rock; Treasure Fingers; XXXChange; Flosstradamus; and Felix Da Housecat, and the kids ate them up like the hidden ecstasy pills in their pockets. The MSTRKFRT show at The Estate during their Fist of God tour was ecstatic and straight out of The Cobrasnake’s webpage. In 2009, when Steve Aoki was at Underbar, the people acted like they hadn’t moved in months and he made sure to bring his raging, imitation of a rock star on the edge to his DJ set. In Allston, always be sure to trust your conscience when a warehouse party is starting to get a little rowdy, because the cops will it shut down (oh, yeah). An after party held by Circus for The Presets was what techno dreams are made of (drunken people, arguments, a bitch-slap and noise galore). This year, Thunderdome even managed to get the star of raunchy rap music, Spank Rock, to hit up Beantown on appropriately enough, a Valentine’s Day gala.
In Boston, when a big name comes to town, and you look into glistening faces of the crowd underneath the big lights, the young people “dancing” and jiving so out of control, you know they’ve been waiting for that hour and half of absolute greatness to take place. It was worth a great deal to see Beantown as more than just some pseudo corn-fed city always struggling to keep up as shown through the eyes of Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. This city could be just as naughty as the next city gone fantastically insane.
By getting through the front door of the newest playground of dance music and asymmetrical haircuts, the insight gained was that Boston club kids wanted to feel important. They want to be their own pop culture. At times it even felt like they were trying to emulate the lives of party goers in the movies and in the real hard streets of cities tougher than Allston; imitating the glory days of James St. James’ former homies (“cocaine fest” was once an overheard comment), and some of these fun loving (somee sexually ambiguous) boys and girls were like lovely slaves to such a capricious life. To the outside it seems they never actually do any “real work”, and a subculture of dance, fashion and small talk will never get old, but maybe the kids of Boston should be given a break. They aren’t all cokeheads. They’re not all that bad. Most of them have the decency to maintain a 9-5. They’re just having fun, not caring about the important things until the alarm clock wakes them up from this fantasy.
From a critical viewpoint, it all seems relative and contradictory. The backdrops of these parties are as dingy as a warehouse or nearly vacant basement apartment could be, or the floors of the club had a patina shine but the brick walls added a touch of toughness to such glamour. Video art is played, with spliced clips of some of the campiest movies of yesteryear, random graphic art and shots of Madonna and Britney (not kissing), Michael Jackson and Tina Turner singing the Mad Max theme.
In February 2009, Boston Globe, reporter Danielle Dreilinger chronicled the fashion of the party people, as well as Susan G., a Bostonian fashion blogger. In the article, you can tell that for Dreilinger, a lot of it was new to her, specifically the very outspoken tone of fashion competition. The outfits that adorn these movers and shakers (girls in their big, gaudy heels—the sensible ones wear flats—glam-rock tank tops, loose, hanging shirt-dresses, and winged eyeliner. The guys in a tuxedo or top to bottom black, maybe just jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirts…those La Roux haircuts, both genders quite fond of the skinny pants)…these children had no shame.
Justin “Justincredible” Cameron, one half of RogueWaves and a DJ on his own, informed Dreilinger, the displayed sassy outfits, “[aren’t seen] as weird. They’re all obsessed with being cool”. Futhermore, Dreilinger discovered, “this crowd is comfortable in front of a camera”. She was on point with that one. These kids aren’t shy, and at times even come across a bit vain. Well, I guess you really can’t hate on a crowd too badly if they already believe they are stars.
In Boston, “loving the nightlife “a la Alicia Bridges, is somewhat of a novelty. If you’re bored, even a little lonely, lusting for the feeling of a good time, in the form of dance and being photographed, it’s like you’ve become an unofficial member of a gang. Is it boredom for a kind of balmy excitement that essentially brings these people together, the party people looking for more, or are they just looking for another excuse to let loose?
For a time, it was exciting, and many of us embraced it. To the guy or gal with the professional camera who everybody without question kissed ass to; the annoyingly labeled “hipster” style of some of the kids; the “we like to party” atmosphere, even when it felt a bit polarizing, it was fun. Sure, they were people who laughed and did a “SMH” at these parties (little too frivolous for their liking, and a common question was, “How can you dance to this shit?) These parties got a bad rap when it seemed like everyone could enter, yet only the seasoned ones were recognized. In light of the youth culture pendulum that swings from L.A. to NYC, Boston became the influx of what comes around will dance and shimmy about, but for how long is why sometimes dreams of La La Land and the Big Apple exist and Bostonians still believe in a city that can live up to its glittery promise. The dance party scene of Boston was a part of just living life during such dire times. On the surface, it doesn’t seem that such deep afterthoughts of what the youth desire is present at all. For all we know, some of them could give a damn about tomorrow, just the booming music of resident DJs like Redfoxx; Dominique; B-Rich; and Hot Pink Delereon, and sets by Armand Van Helden who went on to become a big DJ across clubs all over—but they do.
By fall of 2009, the original promoters of this scene were aware that certain lines were being snorted elsewhere and dancing shoes were taking over other dancefloors such as The Savant Project in Mission Hill. Maybe some us just began to miss the usual going out shenanigans, suddenly craving to hear the latest hit from so-so in hip-hop, and not another discombobulated remix of MGMT’s “Kids”. It was dying slowly, and maybe headliners seemingly wanted to grow up too. They soon continued dance nights, but under different names, and rooms were filled instead with twenty-something good kids who were not trying to go bad. However, some supporters still craved to surrounded by a “dance. go crazy. hook up. get wild” energy, as is the slogan of the after-hours nightclub RISE.
In February of 2010, Together: The New England Electronic Musical Festival (based in Boston) arrived and succeeded. Das Rascist, DJ Rupture, DJ Funk, Sinden and Udachi all made appearances and the festival was non-judgmental. The new faces of the party people were happy to be at the festival’s many events booty-shaking their tails (yes, sometimes, very badly, bless them), and maybe the name could’ve helped gear towards camaraderie, as while Circus was nothing but chaos, Together was like a more natural rave party from back in the day.
To compare the party kids of Boston to the days of Party Monster club kids is for sure a bit far-fetched as no one is murdering anybody over anything, and even that kind of shimmery debauchery hasn’t been the same. It seems that many in NYC, Boston, in any city, are fending for themselves when looking for a good time. Boston promoters do have many things to be proud of. Boston gave itself a glimpse of a metropolitan city on the verge, but not quite there. There were great idiosyncratic qualities to be found at these dance parties. The more you gave in, the more comfortable you felt, even if you couldn’t brush off the feeling you intruding on an exclusive, downtown microcosm of me, me, me. To which boy or girl that became Boston’s version of Cory Kennedy is still up for debate. I suppose the best way to go about having fun in Boston is to never take it too seriously, since having a sardonic attitude is the plat chaud of this town’s menu.
There are people who are genuine about making Boston more than just a university and overzealous sports fan capital, and for one who used to be at the parties, been photographed, mingle with kids, I salute those that are trying. This why for a time these electro/dance parties were great, and hardly asked for much in return except satisfied dancers and to come again. The young people are just enjoying the extended prime of their youth and I personally won’t hate them for that. I guess we’ll just have to let the kids shimmy and shake, for it’s their right and their city to do so. Party people, wherever you are, don’t leave your eyeliner and confidence at the door.
Dancefloor
Justice:
A Bostonian Testimony of a city desperate to let the kids dance and just be free
By Shardae Jobson
If you once observed the evolving underbelly of Boston’s aggressive attempt at a constant appearance of an electro/dance party scene, you probably presumably acted as a slightly inebriated paper doll on a club wall: you mingled now and again with those friendly enough, but you made sure to sometimes to just glance and waver like all the rest against the redundant, clashing beats of the electronic music all up in the club turned watering hole in a city more known for its scholarly, somewhat stoic and classic northeastern ways, than one of fabulously rambunctious young people.
For the last three to four years, Boston has been trying to stay relevant in the dance party circuit. Beantown no longer wants to be the kid sibling tagging along after L.A.; New York City; or even Chicago, where some of the greatest zeitgeist movements in youth culture have already been established as a part of everyday life. Boston wants to be viewed as another prime arena for craziness and style, electro music as the main soundtrack. Though what has yet to be discovered is that such a “come one, come all” free spirit nature is a bit harder to maneuver in a city that is desperate to let go, but can never seem to fully shed its image of well-deserved and reserved confidence. After all, this is also a city that actually operates “underground dinner parties” as discovered by The Boston Globe (geez. Please don’t kill us with a good time! Oh, Boston…)
To the Armani Exchange wearing people who come to Boston’s mainstream clubs, as well as the kids who support the underground house parties, to think that such debauchery would be better equipped in say New York City is a natural thought—but most of us can’t bum-rush to the Big Apple whenever we want; so Beantown party promoters do what they can to ensure happy endings and encouragement towards the party people to be as wild as they want to be. What was cool about this aspect Boston coming from the bottom up is that the progress was well documented for not just those from the beginning, but for others who caught on to doing something different on a sometimes mundane Friday or Saturday night.
Even New York City has had to continue looking for new eccentric characters and other nightlife show-stoppers, as the days of the original club kids are long gone. The monochromatic Misshapes are now regulated for the fashion show after-party crowd, shindigs like Motherfucker abruptly ended a few years ago, and Ruff Club at The Annex ended in September of 2009 (word is, the party apparently did not end until 7AM). Webster Hall has now become the most advertised hotspot for weekend throwdowns in NYC, and the Beatrice Inn was once the pinnacle for watching Gossip Girl wannabes dancing badly and throwing up later. New York City has had to regroup and think again about what it is that brings the people together, and Boston’s been right up there brainstorming, refusing to be ignored and demanding some of the limelight.
If you don’t live in the aforementioned hedonistic cities and love to get it popping, it is almost inevitable to feel at times like you’re missing out on all the fun. You’re left to visit the websites of party photographers (who’ve become local celebrities in their own right) and their massive photo albums of the reckless and almost famous having a good time. You see pictures of them rubbing elbows with the boys and girls, as they collectively believe they are invincibly greater than until the real world pulls them back in the opposite direction come sunrise. Boston’s self-invited inclusion, and re-introduction, as a city of nocturnal amusement in recent years was only a matter of time. The notion was not necessarily a new one and the current generation of party-goers are following the precedent of devil may care behavior of the past that even Boston once exuded (hands in the air if you still long for the days of those old school jams and La Bouche dance hits).
It all began when a group of former unknowns in the club circles of Boston began dance nights on their accord, and they have otherwise accomplisheed more than given credit for.
While the titles of some of these nights have ended or all together never gained much momentum (Circus at Privus, Robot Revolution), others have come in their place to continue a kind of counterculture revival that shimmers of an eat, drink, sleep and party lifestyle. Some of this hootenanny in town are known as Throwed, Hearthrob, Paper, Thunderdome, Campus, hip-hop infused nights by Future Classic, Fashionably Late (the swankest of them all) and other intended, stylish nonsense. The captured complacent shots of the young’uns, from the photographer’s professional camera, behind the rainbow slashes of camera’s flash, we see an imprint of an expression that is traditional to what all dance parties of the world seem to share: a feeling of wanting to be alive.
Once the dance party scene began to really heat up in the mid-2000s in NYC and L.A., and even Philadelphia where Diplo and Switch started the near legendary Hollertronix parties, Boston also took charge in their respective neigborhoods and the party people came in droves. For a moment, it was all about Circus (at Privus, which of all places, was held at a sushi joint), earning a very successful run and was nominated for Best Saturday Night but won Best Dinner & Dancing, both by The Weekly Dig. Hearthrob at Central Square’s Middlesex Lounge has had steady loyalty for its biweekly nights and is truest to the roots of punk and dance, while Throwed and Paper are favorites for those who drink underage and have a new place to make this fact more public. The unofficial public headquarters for Boston’s renewed image of fun and loud music once again belonged to Allston, sandwiched between Brookline’s Coolidge Corner and Brighton, and is one of few havens for Boston’s subculture of new millennium beatniks, and college brats and bums (with Harvard Square, Central Square, and Davis Square as, second, third and fourth). It is the neighborhood where some of Boston’s most erratic nights have taken place in regards to these thriving gatherings.
Whatever the party’s name was, wherever it was held, there was a feeling that once you’ve stepped inside the small club (sometimes basement) of these dance parties, you wanted to be seen through the lens of the people who were running the joint (in simple terms) as a cool kid of sorts. While you pretended to care less for their reverence, you too were suddenly in the know of what was bubbling in Boston nightlife and hoped they wouldn’t hate that you were one step closer to achieving true party kid status. As with many dance party scenes, the crowd is eventually the same, so people get to know each other—that is, if they want to get to know you. You find out real fast some people aren’t as quick to welcome you into their enclave. Promoters want people to show up to boost their popularity, and some party people are elated on meeting new ones (even complimenting your shoes or outfit), but the junior high school clique feeling that these parties sometimes bring can be incredibly nauseating. Yet, for every face too conjured in bitchiness to say hello, nice people are met and after seeing your face every damn Saturday night, they may even feel bound to say hi and give you a quick but amiable hug—their way of saying, “You made the right choice tonight”.
By mid-2008, the parties became super popular, and a staple of Boston nightlife, rivaling the likes of clubs next door and around the corner that played Top 40 mash-ups. For those who regularly came, they likely became a bit submerge, and soon notable names from those influential cities made their stops such as Pase Rock; Treasure Fingers; XXXChange; Flosstradamus; and Felix Da Housecat, and the kids ate them up like the hidden ecstasy pills in their pockets. The MSTRKFRT show at The Estate during their Fist of God tour was ecstatic and straight out of The Cobrasnake’s webpage. In 2009, when Steve Aoki was at Underbar, the people acted like they hadn’t moved in months and he made sure to bring his raging, imitation of a rock star on the edge to his DJ set. In Allston, always be sure to trust your conscience when a warehouse party is starting to get a little rowdy, because the cops will it shut down (oh, yeah). An after party held by Circus for The Presets was what techno dreams are made of (drunken people, arguments, a bitch-slap and noise galore). This year, Thunderdome even managed to get the star of raunchy rap music, Spank Rock, to hit up Beantown on appropriately enough, a Valentine’s Day gala.
In Boston, when a big name comes to town, and you look into glistening faces of the crowd underneath the big lights, the young people “dancing” and jiving so out of control, you know they’ve been waiting for that hour and half of absolute greatness to take place. It was worth a great deal to see Beantown as more than just some pseudo corn-fed city always struggling to keep up as shown through the eyes of Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. This city could be just as naughty as the next city gone fantastically insane.
By getting through the front door of the newest playground of dance music and asymmetrical haircuts, the insight gained was that Boston club kids wanted to feel important. They want to be their own pop culture. At times it even felt like they were trying to emulate the lives of party goers in the movies and in the real hard streets of cities tougher than Allston; imitating the glory days of James St. James’ former homies (“cocaine fest” was once an overheard comment), and some of these fun loving (somee sexually ambiguous) boys and girls were like lovely slaves to such a capricious life. To the outside it seems they never actually do any “real work”, and a subculture of dance, fashion and small talk will never get old, but maybe the kids of Boston should be given a break. They aren’t all cokeheads. They’re not all that bad. Most of them have the decency to maintain a 9-5. They’re just having fun, not caring about the important things until the alarm clock wakes them up from this fantasy.
From a critical viewpoint, it all seems relative and contradictory. The backdrops of these parties are as dingy as a warehouse or nearly vacant basement apartment could be, or the floors of the club had a patina shine but the brick walls added a touch of toughness to such glamour. Video art is played, with spliced clips of some of the campiest movies of yesteryear, random graphic art and shots of Madonna and Britney (not kissing), Michael Jackson and Tina Turner singing the Mad Max theme.
In February 2009, Boston Globe, reporter Danielle Dreilinger chronicled the fashion of the party people, as well as Susan G., a Bostonian fashion blogger. In the article, you can tell that for Dreilinger, a lot of it was new to her, specifically the very outspoken tone of fashion competition. The outfits that adorn these movers and shakers (girls in their big, gaudy heels—the sensible ones wear flats—glam-rock tank tops, loose, hanging shirt-dresses, and winged eyeliner. The guys in a tuxedo or top to bottom black, maybe just jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirts…those La Roux haircuts, both genders quite fond of the skinny pants)…these children had no shame.
Justin “Justincredible” Cameron, one half of RogueWaves and a DJ on his own, informed Dreilinger, the displayed sassy outfits, “[aren’t seen] as weird. They’re all obsessed with being cool”. Futhermore, Dreilinger discovered, “this crowd is comfortable in front of a camera”. She was on point with that one. These kids aren’t shy, and at times even come across a bit vain. Well, I guess you really can’t hate on a crowd too badly if they already believe they are stars.
In Boston, “loving the nightlife “a la Alicia Bridges, is somewhat of a novelty. If you’re bored, even a little lonely, lusting for the feeling of a good time, in the form of dance and being photographed, it’s like you’ve become an unofficial member of a gang. Is it boredom for a kind of balmy excitement that essentially brings these people together, the party people looking for more, or are they just looking for another excuse to let loose?
For a time, it was exciting, and many of us embraced it. To the guy or gal with the professional camera who everybody without question kissed ass to; the annoyingly labeled “hipster” style of some of the kids; the “we like to party” atmosphere, even when it felt a bit polarizing, it was fun. Sure, they were people who laughed and did a “SMH” at these parties (little too frivolous for their liking, and a common question was, “How can you dance to this shit?) These parties got a bad rap when it seemed like everyone could enter, yet only the seasoned ones were recognized. In light of the youth culture pendulum that swings from L.A. to NYC, Boston became the influx of what comes around will dance and shimmy about, but for how long is why sometimes dreams of La La Land and the Big Apple exist and Bostonians still believe in a city that can live up to its glittery promise. The dance party scene of Boston was a part of just living life during such dire times. On the surface, it doesn’t seem that such deep afterthoughts of what the youth desire is present at all. For all we know, some of them could give a damn about tomorrow, just the booming music of resident DJs like Redfoxx; Dominique; B-Rich; and Hot Pink Delereon, and sets by Armand Van Helden who went on to become a big DJ across clubs all over—but they do.
By fall of 2009, the original promoters of this scene were aware that certain lines were being snorted elsewhere and dancing shoes were taking over other dancefloors such as The Savant Project in Mission Hill. Maybe some us just began to miss the usual going out shenanigans, suddenly craving to hear the latest hit from so-so in hip-hop, and not another discombobulated remix of MGMT’s “Kids”. It was dying slowly, and maybe headliners seemingly wanted to grow up too. They soon continued dance nights, but under different names, and rooms were filled instead with twenty-something good kids who were not trying to go bad. However, some supporters still craved to surrounded by a “dance. go crazy. hook up. get wild” energy, as is the slogan of the after-hours nightclub RISE.
In February of 2010, Together: The New England Electronic Musical Festival (based in Boston) arrived and succeeded. Das Rascist, DJ Rupture, DJ Funk, Sinden and Udachi all made appearances and the festival was non-judgmental. The new faces of the party people were happy to be at the festival’s many events booty-shaking their tails (yes, sometimes, very badly, bless them), and maybe the name could’ve helped gear towards camaraderie, as while Circus was nothing but chaos, Together was like a more natural rave party from back in the day.
To compare the party kids of Boston to the days of Party Monster club kids is for sure a bit far-fetched as no one is murdering anybody over anything, and even that kind of shimmery debauchery hasn’t been the same. It seems that many in NYC, Boston, in any city, are fending for themselves when looking for a good time. Boston promoters do have many things to be proud of. Boston gave itself a glimpse of a metropolitan city on the verge, but not quite there. There were great idiosyncratic qualities to be found at these dance parties. The more you gave in, the more comfortable you felt, even if you couldn’t brush off the feeling you intruding on an exclusive, downtown microcosm of me, me, me. To which boy or girl that became Boston’s version of Cory Kennedy is still up for debate. I suppose the best way to go about having fun in Boston is to never take it too seriously, since having a sardonic attitude is the plat chaud of this town’s menu.
There are people who are genuine about making Boston more than just a university and overzealous sports fan capital, and for one who used to be at the parties, been photographed, mingle with kids, I salute those that are trying. This why for a time these electro/dance parties were great, and hardly asked for much in return except satisfied dancers and to come again. The young people are just enjoying the extended prime of their youth and I personally won’t hate them for that. I guess we’ll just have to let the kids shimmy and shake, for it’s their right and their city to do so. Party people, wherever you are, don’t leave your eyeliner and confidence at the door.
original post written with peace, love, and hair grease
VIDEO:
"Symphonies (Remix)" by Dan Black featuring Kid Cudi, and when you hear it, yes, that is the instrumental from Rihanna's "Umbrella". The music video is based upon commercial aspects of the movie industry, all of which you'll probably recognize. It's pretty cool.
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